Read Online City of Ghosts by Stacia Kane - Free Book Online Page A

her too-dry mouth. She couldn’t do anything about the rest of it. She was pale and shaky, her entire body clammy with nerves.
    When his heavy knuckles hit her door she was ready, standing beside it. Her hand flew to the knob, but she caught herself before she turned it. Bad enough that she’d made an ass out of herself the last time she’d seen him. He didn’t need to know she’d been hovering here by the door, waiting.
    The makeup was a mistake. So was the top, and the high-heeled boots. It was all a mistake. What did she think this was, a fucking date? How much more obvious did she want to make it? Maybe when she opened the door she could fall to her knees and start crying, too, just to complete the pitiful picture.
    Another heavy knock. Okay. Deep breath time. She twisted the knob, stepped back, and pulled.
    Nobody filled a doorway like Terrible.
    Her mouth opened. What should she say here? Hi? How are you? Come to bed with me? Yeah, that would work. Fuck! What was she—
    His eyes met hers. For one second she saw something in them. Something like what she used to see, a ghost of what had been.
    Then it was gone. He jerked his head to the side in a short “Come on” gesture, turned, and walked back down the hall. No need to say anything; they both knew why he was there, where he was taking her.
    Her heart fell into her shoes. It was no more than she expected. No more than she deserved. But it still hurt; fissures inside her she’d thought were starting to heal cracked back open and pumped deep-blue misery through her veins.
    Breathing past the lump in her throat, she grabbed her bag and followed him, pausing only to lock and set the wards on her front door. Her arms felt awkward, her hands too big; she shoved them into her pockets, took them back out, folded and unfolded her arms as she tried to keep up with his long stride. Down the stairs, across the wide lobby and through the huge double doors, out into the cold early spring wind.
    Out of habit she paused by the passenger door, waiting for him to open it, but he didn’t. Right. She grabbed the icy handle herself, felt it bite her palm as she lifted it and let herself into the dark, smoke-and-leather-scented interior. Other scents lurked there as well: bourbon and beer. He’d been drinking. She didn’t blame him. She could have used a drink herself just then. Would have been smart to grab a beer from the fridge.
    The driver’s side sank when he lowered himself onto the seat. Keys jangled.
    They didn’t move.
    Her water bottle was in her bag. She fumbled for it, concentrating on it so she wouldn’t have to feel him next to her. To smell his skin. To look at his bumpy, craggy profile, black DA haircut swooped up and back and glistening with Murray’s pomade. It didn’t work. She was acutely aware of all those things, and of her sadness spilling over all of it. She … she missed him. He was her friend. No matter how much she wanted him to be more, no matter how much she’d blown her chance at it … all that shit aside, he’d been her friend, and she missed that so much it hurt.
    “What’d you do to me?”
    The bottle slipped from her fingers; she managed to catch it before it spilled. “What?”
    His right hand circled over his chest. Oh, right.
    “Oh. It’s a sigil, it … binds your soul to your body.”
    Images of that night swirled from her memory, played in front of her again. The way they had so many times since. His body, motionless … the hawk swooping down to claim his soul … her knife handle cold and hard in her hand, carving the sigil into his chest, the blood seeping from the design like it was responding to her summons.
    He gave a short nod, barely more than a dip of his chin. Still refused to look at her. “Why?”
    “You don’t remember? Didn’t anyone tell you?”
    “Ain’t nobody gave me the rundown. Nobody there, you recall, ceptin yon boyfriend, he people.”
    “He’s not my boyfriend. I’m not … I’m not seeing him